


She's a Maniac

by HighLadyoftheNightCourt



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Frieda doesn't betray Carol, Litchfield '82, Pre Oitnb, She ends up falling in love with her, Young Carol, Young Frieda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighLadyoftheNightCourt/pseuds/HighLadyoftheNightCourt
Summary: What would have happened if Frieda hadn't betrayed Carol but had fallen in love with her? This is a slow-burn fic with Carol/Frieda endgame that I decided to write because I would kill for a Litchfield '82 Spin-Off. Plus, I love Young-Carol.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear reader,  
> I decided to make some changes to the prison so the plot could work out the way I want to. Case in point is the fact that there are only two beds in each cell. Kudos and comments are highly appreciated. Also, I am open to any prompts you might have. Enjoy!

Frieda was reading a book --not a particularly good one-- when an inmate still in her bright orange jumpsuit walked in. She looked young --probably younger than herself-- but she still walked in the cell as if she owned the prison. Frieda gave her a brief look and without acknowledging her, continued reading her book.

The girl scoffed making it obvious that she hated being ignored. Good, thought Frieda. Her eyes --framed by golden rimmed, enormous glasses-- however had a dangerous sparkle in them that currently screamed psycho. "You. Up." When Frieda refused to look at her the girl viciously smacked the book out of her hands making it fly across the room and land in the floor with a loud thud. "Are you deaf or something?" 

Frieda slowly --so slowly that the gesture itself made it obvious that it was deliberate-- turned to look at her. Still, she refused to answer; she wanted to see how much she could rile the girl up. The way her face reddened was starting to amuse her, and very few things managed to amuse Frieda Berlin.

"Get up." Her voice was low, almost a growl. It made Frieda want to laugh.

"Why would I do that?" She finally answered, sounding bored. 

"Because-" Her eyebrows twitched. "Because I told you so."

Frieda wasn't done rolling her eyes when a hand reached for her throat. Before the palm managed to close around it Frieda had caught the wrist and twisted it in a way that made most people scream. The girl gritted her teeth and furrowed her eyebrows but didn't make a sound; Frieda would be lying if she said that she wasn't a little bit impressed. Just a little bit, though. 

"Don't you know who I am?" Her pain-laced voice demanded.

"Is that it?" Frieda asked, twisting her wrist slightly more. A soft groan escaped the girl's lips. "You think that killing your baby sister makes you tough or something?" She laughed, the sound unfamiliar and foreign to her. "You and your sister killed a child. There is nothing hard or impressive about that." 

"Let go of my wrist." The girl said but her voice had lost its demanding tone. 

"You don't scare me-" She paused to look at the nametag that handing from the girl's jumpsuit. "-Denning." She stopped putting pressure on the wrist but didn't let go completely. "There are a few people in here you can scare with that oh-i'm-so-tough-act." She let go.

"You don't know me." Denning said rubbing her sore wrist. "You are going to regret this."

Frieda couldn't help herself but smile as her new roommate stormed out of the room with smoke coming out of her ears. She briefly wondered if she had been a fool to act like that and almost regretted her behavior --the girl could be dangerous, after all-- but teaching that little brat a lesson was too tempting to pass. 

She had been in Litchfield for 11 months, serving her time quietly. Sure, she had a don't-mess-with-me vibe but not once had she blatantly hurt another inmate. There were some threats once in a while but she had never crossed the line she had set upon coming to this place and physically assaulted an inmate. 

Damn, she thought as she picked up her book. The fall had damaged its edges. The Denning had managed to get under her skin, a fact that made her very angry. Who did she think she was? No unnecessary trouble, Frieda had promised to herself. Yet she had taken every bait the Denning girl had given her like a child that couldn't contain herself.  
She is going to be trouble, that one. 

She considered asking for a roommate change but something inside her that she couldn't quite place yet didn't let her.

 

.....

 

"That-" thud "-fucking-" thud "bitch!" Carol screamed on top of her lungs kicking the toilet stall's door, imaging her roommate's face on the place her foot connected with the cheap plastic. 

I am going to kill her, she thought. I killed my sister. I am in prison. There is nothing worse they can do to me. I'll kill her.

Carol had walked in the cell planning to make her roommate her bitch. She had grand plans for her stay in prison. She wasn't going to be one of those women that decided to spend their time doing creative shit. No, Carol was going to run this whole prison. She would start with her roommate and then start her own gang which would lead to her becoming Queen Bee of C-Block and then the whole prison. And after she had accomplished all that she would kill her sister, Barbara. 

It wasn't as if she couldn't kill her now, --because she could-- she just wanted her to live long enough to see Carol's assent. And now because of that bitch Carol would have to make changes in her original plan. Carol hated changes; every three months a new town, new school, new house, new room. If only she could get a new family. Now that would have been a change Carol would have welcomed with open arms.

Pacing back and forth --as much as the tiny stall allowed-- Carol started plotting her revenge. Not only had she not bent to Carol's will but she had physically hurt and humiliated her. That bitch should start sleeping with an eye open, she thought with a satisfied and equally psychotic smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the support. I am so glad you liked this. This chapter took me way too long to write, probably because I wrote three different versions before I settled with this one. I really hope you enjoy it! Kudos and comments are highly appreciated and motivate me to write.

She doesn't waste time, Frieda thought when she heard the soft sound Carol’s feet made against the cold concrete. It was way past midnight— most people would have been snoring already and Carol’s calculated steps wouldn’t have disturbed their sleep. But Frieda wasn't most people. 

She kept her eyes closed waiting for her roommate to make her move. It didn’t take her long to cross the cell. The blonde was currently standing so close that Frieda could hear her breath; it was shaky, betraying the girl’s nervousness. 

A deep breath. In and out. She was preparing to strike. Frieda opened her eyes but Carol failed to notice, lost in a revenge-fueled trance. Frieda struck first. Her movements were so fast that if you blinked you missed the whole thing. Using arms and legs the dark-haired girl managed to throw Carol on the floor and pin her down. Her left hand restrained her roommate’s hands while the right one reached for the weapon; a shiv.

Carol struggled under her grip making her hiss, low and dangerous, “Don’t. Move.” She straddled her hips and brought the shiv to her throat.

“If you want to kill me, do it.” It was a fearless growl that made Frieda wonder if the girl was truly unafraid or was just great at faking it.

“Kill you?” She asked in a manner that made it sound like such a ridiculous prospect. “You are not worth the trouble.” Frieda could swear the blonde looked offended. 

“Well, if you intend to do something, fucking do it or let me go.” Carol smirked cruelly. Cruelty shouldn’t look that good, a tiny, barely there part deeply buried inside Frieda thought. “Unless you enjoy being on top of me.”

Frieda’s mouth fell slightly open and the realization hit her; she was sitting on Carol, casually supporting her weight on her abdomen. She didn’t even remember straddling her. Fighting didn’t require thinking for her; it was purely muscle memory. 

Before she could come up with something to say Carol spoke again. “Are you into girls, Berlin? Are you going to keep me pinned down and have your way with me?” Her voice was husky and when Frieda didn’t respond she broke into a throaty laugh. 

“You flatter yourself.” The raven-haired girl managed through gritted teeth. It took her longer to respond than she would have liked, but she simply couldn’t get her thoughts straight. She felt intoxicated. The only things she could focus on were Carol’s words and the feeling of her soft and warm skin underneath her. It was unlike anything Frieda had ever experienced. 

Growing up she had kept her distance from other people. Her ‘training’ with her father didn't leave time for friendships let alone romantic relationships. Is this arousal, she wondered before shoving the thought away. She felt immensely grateful for the darkness that surrounded them— at least Carol couldn’t see her cheeks, flaming red from shame. 

“Go to sleep Denning and don’t try this again, because I will not be as gracious the next time.” She told the blonde, ready to end this because she was 99 percent certain that she was going to lose her mind if she didn’t put some distance between them immediately.

Frieda went to bed doing her best to ignore her damp and sticky underwear. 

……

Despite not managing to kill Frieda, Carol considered last night a success. One might have pointed out that the raven-haired girl had defeated her once again but that hardly mattered to her. She had discovered her weakness, her deepest secret, the one she would do anything to keep concealed. The blonde lay in bed coming up with ways to exploit this delicious piece of information she had acquired. It didn’t take long before she had succumbed to deep sleep. 

She woke up panting and sweating. The cell was pitch dark so she had no idea if she had woken her roommate up. She wasn’t religious but she prayed to whatever God was listening that she hadn’t. Had she made any sounds? That would have been so embarrassing… She ran her hands through her hair trying to calm her racing heart down. 

That fucking dream. 

It started as a replay of Carol’s attack. Everything happened exactly as it had up until the point where Carol had said cockily, “Unless you enjoy being on top of me.”

Unlike real Frieda, whose body had tensed in discomfort, the dream Frieda flashed her a toothy grin —the room was lit up in her dream, allowing her to see every move and expression the other girl made— and purred, “Perhaps I do. What about you? Do you enjoy being underneath me?”

“Yes.” It came out of her mouth so quickly that she didn’t even have a chance to stop herself. She responded without thinking; the answer had come from the subconscious part of her mind, the one she had no control of, and that scared her to the bone. It scared her for two reasons. Number one, because it was embarrassing to admit that she enjoyed being helpless like that and number two, because of how true it was. 

Frieda hummed sounding pleased. “Good girl.” 

Carol moaned. She didn’t know if it was because of Frieda’s words or because of the delicious pressure the girl's knee applied between her thighs. Perhaps it was a combination of those two things. She didn’t care. She just wanted more and more and more. She told Frieda as much. It made her smile. 

Carol had never had a boyfriend. Had never felt the need for one either. She had been to six different high schools and yet she hadn’t met a single boy that made the butterflies in her stomach go wild. Barb claimed that it was her fault, that she was too picky; perhaps she was right. 

She had come to terms with it —the fact that she would never meet someone that would make her swoon like her sister said her boyfriends made her— or at least she thought she had. Frieda had awoken those butterflies, which were now flying wildly inside her stomach. 

Carol was a big mess of pleasure, confusion, and shame. She wasn't into girls. She liked boys. Yes, she hadn’t met the right boy yet —she probably never would since she was going to spend her whole life in prison— but that didn’t mean she was a lesbian. No. She liked boys. Boys like Burt Reynolds. Boys, not girls.

Her thoughts melted into nothing when Frieda’s knee pressed harder against her center. The blonde was about to start begging for more when the dream ended and she was brought back to reality. She wondered if that was how her little sister, Debbie, had felt when the cold water had hit her.

She spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to decipher the dream. After failing to come up with an explanation she liked, she decided that it would be best if she ignored it. It never happened, she told herself again and again until she felt confident that she could face Frieda. 

When the lights turned on, signaling that it was morning, Carol watched her dark-haired roommate get up from her bed. Frieda didn’t say anything— she didn’t need to. Her smug look was enough to make Carol understand that it would be best for her if she simply stayed away from Frieda. Every plan she had come up with to manipulate the girl bled out of her. She met her eyes. “Last night didn’t happen.”

The faintest smile. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After struggling to write something that would stay true to their characters I decided that I want them to come to terms with their sexuality through their relationship, which will take some time. Frieda's shame doesn't have to do with the fact that she is attracted to a woman but more with her being attracted to someone in general. I feel that the way she grew up didn't allow her to explore her sexuality which is why it confuses/scares her now. Carol grew up with strict parents that wanted their daughters to be perfect little girls, which is why she is so scared of admitting her attraction towards females. I hope that makes sense. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

The girls spent the next three days without uttering a single word to each other. Frieda told herself that she should be happy with this outcome —staying away from Carol was the right choice— yet she couldn’t help but wish that she and Carol could be friends or at least be friendly to each other. 

Frieda Berlin had spent her whole life being alone; her father didn’t really count as company. Yet not once had she felt lonely. It was foreign to her— craving someone’s company. No, not someone’s, she thought, It was Carol’s company, Carol’s touch that she craved. Frieda knew she shouldn’t want this, not because Carol was a girl, but because the blonde was a psychopath incapable of love. She had killed her baby sister in cold blood, for God’s sake! 

And even if Carol was able to love and be loved it wasn’t as if she had a chance. Frieda had found her hidden playgirl stash— pages and pages filled with naked hairy men. How someone could find that sight attractive was beyond her. 

So, feeling like she had no other choice, Frieda stayed away from the blonde, pretending that she didn’t exist. It was all smooth sailing until the day the dark-haired girl returned to her cell to find Carol lying on her bed, a lit cigarette dangling between her lips. 

“You can’t smoke in here.” Frieda coughed using her hand to drive the smoke away from her face.

“Why not?” Carol asked, sounding bored. 

“I hate the smell of it.” 

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Berlin. I guess you’ll have to get used to it.”

Frieda tried. She really did. The fact that Carol smoked a pack per day didn’t help. Because of her cellmate’s addiction, Frieda had to find a nice, quiet, smoke-free place where she could relax without anyone bothering her. It had taken her two days to spot it— it was in the library, hidden behind shelves. It was perfect. Yet the more time Frieda spent lying on the mattress she had smuggled there, the more she wished she wasn’t alone. It was such an absurd concept. She was here because Carol had turned their cell into a smoker’s den and she still wanted her around. It wasn’t even her company —they barely talked— it was her presence. The blonde managed to fill the room just by being there. 

One day she decided to spend her free time in the C-Block common room. She told herself she did it to keep the guards from becoming suspicious, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. It was about Carol. Everything was about her these days. Frieda hated that the blonde had that effect on her. 

Keen eyes scanned the room until they locked on their target— Carol Denning was sitting alone playing chess. It was as if her legs had a mind of their own; quick, purposeful strides brought her to the girl’s table. “Who’s winning?”

Carol looked up and then scoffed. “Couldn’t find someone good enough to play with.”

Frieda, feeling bold, sat down facing the blonde, and said, “You found her.”

An amused smile lit up Carol’s face. “I have to warn you, I was a member of the chess club.”

“Let’s see what they taught you.” Her hands reached for the chess pieces at the same time Carol’s did. Their fingers touched— it was such a brief touch, but it was enough to send shivers down their spines. The blonde pulled her hand back with such intensity that anyone watching would swear she had been burned. 

Frieda arched an eyebrow, challenging the other girl, pretending that their contact hadn’t had the same effect on her. Carol didn’t respond— she just watched silently as the dark-haired girl put the chess pieces in their positions. “Black or white?” Frieda asked when she was done. 

“It doesn't matter; you are losing either way.” 

Frieda smiled. It was faint and vanished way too quickly, but she had. Carol berated herself for feeling proud that she had made the ice-cold girl smile. “Black it is. Wanna place a bet or are we just playing for bragging rights?”

“What do you have in mind?” The blonde asked, examining the girl in front of her. Every time she felt like she had finally cracked the mystery that Frieda Berlin was, that she finally understood her, she was proven wrong. It was incredibly frustrating but addictive at the same time. She found it physically impossible to stop observing her until she cracked all the layers and saw her true self. I’ve got nothing but time, she thought with a bittersweet smile. 

“If I win, you stop smoking in our cell.” 

Carol laughed. “So, that’s why you approached me.” Frieda shrugged as if to say, so? “Foolish of me to assume you simply enjoyed my company.” It was a joke— but not really. Carol truly felt disappointed that her cellmate had an ulterior motive all along. “Fine. If you win, I’ll keep our cell smoke-free,” she agreed. It was a small price to pay. The reward, after all, was totally worth the risk. “But if I win, you have to join my gang.”

“You don’t have a gang.” 

“Not yet.” Carol had been trying to recruit inmates for the past four days, but all of them had rejected her. The fact that Barbara was already ruling D-Block added salt to the wound. But if Carol had Frieda’s loyalty pledged to her, she was certain others would follow. The dark-haired girl inspired respect and fear —mostly fear, but that was what Carol was after— making her a valuable asset. “You’ll be the first member.”

“I don’t do gangs.” 

Which is why requiting you is so important, the blonde thought before saying, “You only have to join if you lose.” It was a challenge she knew her cellmate wouldn’t be able to resist. “Do we have a deal?”

They shook hands and started playing. Carol had missed playing chess. She had missed the thrill of the game, the joy of being able to predict your opponent’s moves, the rush she felt after winning. Chess was one of the few things in which Carol was good at— no, not just good. She hadn’t lost a single game in the past four years. It was still not enough to make her parents proud. To make them love her.

“Goodbye cigarettes.” Frieda said in an upbeat voice as she made the final move, winning the game.

“Fucker!” She shouted, hitting the chess board hard enough to drop it on the floor, the pawns flying in all directions.

“Denning! Pick that up immediately.” A CO’s voice commanded.

“Don’t be a sore loser.” Frieda said, kneeling down to help her gather the pieces. 

“Your victory meant nothing, by the way.” She snarled, her anger taking over. “You have no way of making me keep my word.”

“No, I don’t.” Frieda said calmly. “But you will. If you want a rematch.”

Carol frowned, hating how the girl managed to always be a step ahead. “Tomorrow. Same time.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re sure you don’t want to play for something else?” Frieda asked, carefully arranging the pawns on the chess board. 

“Nope.” Carol replied, slumping back in her plastic, uncomfortable chair. “If I win you’ll have to join—”

“Your non-existent gang, yeah, I remember.” The dark-haired girl cut her off with an eye-roll. “Why are you so hell-bent on creating a gang?” When Carol didn’t answer, she added, “You can join one, you know. You don’t have to create one from scratch.”

“Yes, I do.” Frieda arched an eyebrow, silently asking for more. “I don’t want to be a simple lackey— I want to be the leader.” Frieda muffled a laugh, offending the blonde. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you laughing?” Carol hated being laughed at— it made her want to tear out the person’s vocal cords and use them to strangle him. Yet she didn’t have the urge to hurt Frieda— in contrary, the thought of seeing the girl sitting across her hurt made her sick. What the hell is wrong with me, she wondered.

The dark-haired girl smirked. “I am not. Now, are we going to play or not?”

“We haven’t decided on what happens if you win.” Having to stop smoking in her cell was a small sacrifice— she hoped she wouldn’t have to make a bigger one.

“I don’t have something specific in mind right now.” Carol gave her a look that said, so? “If I win, you’ll owe me a favor.” 

“I don’t know, that seems pretty sketchy.”

“I won’t ask for anything too crazy.” The blonde opened her mouth but Frieda cut her off saying, “I promise.”

Carol considered it for a moment before agreeing. The girl’s promise shouldn’t mean anything to her, but Carol couldn’t help but feel reassured as she looked at those beautiful, deep blue eyes. You cannot lose, she told herself.

“Oh, since we both know you are going to lose, how ‘bout we spice up the game a little?” Frieda suggested.

“I am not going to—” Carol inhaled— chess was a game of patience and deep thought. Frieda was trying to rile her up, make her unable to think straight and strategize properly. “What do you have in mind?”

“You get one question per pawn you remove from the board.” 

It was simple and straight-forward— Carol liked it. “Sounds good.”

“And it goes without saying that we have to answer honestly.”

“Honesty is my second name.” 

….

“Are you going to sulk for the rest of our free-time or will you start asking questions?” Frieda teased the blonde who was sitting crossed-arm, a murderous look in her eyes.

“How do you do that?” Carol had never met a person as talented at chess as Frieda. She was able to predict every single move Carol made while managing to keep hers completely unpredictable.

“Is that one of your six questions?” Despite losing, the blonde had managed to remove six of Frieda’s pawns— Frieda had removed a total of seven.

“No.” She sighed. “Yes, but I want a good answer.”

“My dad made me practice every day since I was eight years old— said it sharpened the mind.” Frieda’s eyes fluttered closed for the briefest moment, recalling her father’s smile when she had beat him for the first time.

“Must have been nice.” Carol said softly. “Being loved by him,” she clarified.

Frieda shrugged. Sure, her father loved her, but that didn’t mean that her life had been nice. “I bet your life was better than mine. And if not better, then at least easier.”

“I doubt that.”

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I mean, we both ended up in here, didn’t we?” Carol laughed humorlessly. “Okay— my turn. Did you really do it?”

“Do what?” Carol asked, her expression becoming dark and unreadable. It wasn’t that Carol hadn’t understood what the girl implied— she just wanted to hear her say it. 

“Did you really kill your sister?”

“No.” She lied. “It was Barb’s fault; that’s why I hate the bitch.” Frieda’s face didn’t betray whether she believed her or not. “Where do you go when you are not here during free-time?” 

People did notice her absence, Frieda thought and then wondered if it was just Carol who did. A foolish part of her hoped for the latter. “I have a secret place.”

“Where is it?”

“In the library— and before you waste a question, I am not giving you the exact position.”

Carol knew she was playing with fire when she asked her next question, “Do you take girls there?”

“Nah. I prefer solitude.” Frieda answered, the implication getting lost on her. “I haven’t really found anyone in here that I enjoy talking to.” Expect you, that foolish part of her thought.

The blonde had to laugh at her cellmate’s innocence. “I didn’t mean that.” Watching the realization dawn on her, was the most amusing thing Carol had witnessed in a very long time. Her cheeks turned bright red and her eyes widened. Sitting there, with her two braids and scandalized expression she looked more like a school girl than a dangerous criminal.

“No, I— I don’t— I’m not—” 

“You’re not into girls?” Carol asked, unable to hide her wolfish grin. 

“I don’t know.” The girl admitted after a moment of silence.

“How can you not know?” 

Frieda shrugged. “I’ve never been with anyone.” She looked away, unable to hold Carol’s intense stare. “You’ve asked your six questions. It’s my turn now.” To her surprise, the blonde didn’t protest. “So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Into girls?” Frieda asked, embarrassed just by forming the question. She had seen an ungodly amount of playgirls stacked under Carol’s mattress but she had heard that some people were interested in both.

“No.” It was the second lie Carol told— the difference this time was that she was also lying to herself.

Frieda nodded, her heart sinking. It's not like I would have had a chance if she was into girls, she thought. I'm not sure I even want to have a chance. “Have you—”

“Had sex?” Carol asked teasingly. Frieda nodded, feeling her cheeks heat up once again. “Nope.”

“Oh, please.” The dark-haired girl said in disbelief.

“Barb was always the slut.” Carol said bitterly. “I was the nerdy, younger sister in the background.”

“But you are—” Frieda cut herself right before she could say something very, very stupid.

The blonde arched an eyebrow. “But I’m what?” When she didn’t get an answer she asked again. “What am I, Frieda?”

Frieda was redder than a tomato. “You are beautiful.” She blurted out. It doesn't mean anything, she reassured herself. “Don’t look at me like that— it’s just a fact.” 

It only took three words to melt down Carol’s bitchy facade. You are beautiful. It was a meaningless compliment— or it would be for girls who had been told how gorgeous they were their entire lives. For Carol —who had never been complimented on pretty much anything— meant the world, especially coming from Frieda’s mouth. “Thanks.” She said softer than she would have liked. Frieda just shrugged. Carol knew she had to say it back— it was the polite thing to do. Most people expected to be complimented back when complimenting someone else. Most people, but not Frieda. She wasn’t looking Carol expectantly, waiting for her ego to be stroked. Frieda, Carol thought, acted as if she didn’t believe she was beautiful. That is a crime, the blonde decided. “Hey, Berlin.” Using her first name felt too intimate, especially for this. 

“Huh?”

“You are beautiful too.” 

Instead of smiling, the girl frowned. “You don’t have to say it back, you know.”

She doesn’t believe me, Carol thought. “I know. I mean it. Raven colored hair, deep blue eyes— it’s breathtaking.” Because saying ‘you’ would have been too much— more than it already was. 

“Thank you.” Frieda said, still not entirely believing her cellmates words


	5. Chapter 5

The days passed, bringing Carol and Frieda closer. They weren’t friends, but they were friendly. At least that’s what Frieda thought. They played chess every day, but they stopped placing bets since it soon became clear Carol would never win— Frieda decided to let her win once and the bright, cocky, but extremely happy smile that she got from Carol was worth it. They even sit together during meal times. Frieda thought she could get used to this— not being alone.

Everything was great, or at least as great things could be in a maximum security prison, until the day she walked into their cell holding a bunch of lollipops. 

Carol who had been lying on her bed reading one of her disgusting playgirl magazines immediately sat up, pushing the magazine under her mattress. “Jesus Frieda! You scared me.” Frieda didn’t say anything. “Something wrong?”

“You know, the funniest thing happened to me today.” 

Carol, who knew that her cellmate was rarely sarcastic, decided that something very bad had happened. “What happened?”

“An inmate —I think her name is Johnson, doesn’t really matter— approached me and gave me those lollipops.” 

“Why?”

“That’s what I asked her. And you know what she said?” Carol shook her head. “They are for Carol. And I told her that she could give them to you herself— just because I’m your cellmate doesn’t mean I serve you.”

“Frieda—” Carol tried to explain, the realization dawning on her. Shit, she thought.

The dark-haired girl didn’t let her finish. “And she smiled —the way people who have a secret smile— and told me, I know you are Carol’s second. Didn’t she tell you? I’m part of her group too.” Frieda shook her head in disappointment. “The idiot was so proud of it.” She dropped the lollipops on Carol’s bed. 

“Want one?” Was all Carol could think to say. She had screwed up. If she didn’t manage to convince Frieda to keep her mouth shut, not only would she lose all her followers but she would become a joke.

“No, Carol. What I want is for you to tell me why the hell you told people I am your second.” Frieda wasn’t just angry; she felt betrayed. She thought the blonde was actually a decent person hiding behind walls she had built to protect herself. She thought that they could become friends. Finding out that Carol had used her hurt more than she wanted to admit. 

“I needed your support to get people to follow me.” It’s not like Carol hadn’t tried to recruit inmates without using Frieda’s name. She was new at the prison —too new to be a leader— and she was young— too young to earn the older inmates’ respect. On top of that, Barb’s slander had destroyed her public image. Frieda was her only choice. 

Frieda scoffed. “Fuck you, Carol.”

….

Carol thought that Frieda would have forgiven her by the next day; she was wrong. 

“Are you really going to hold a grudge?” Turns out was the wrong thing to say since it made Frieda leave their cell and not return until it was night-time. 

Despite her not talking to Carol she didn’t tell anyone that the blonde had lied about her being her second. Carol didn’t know what that meant. She also didn’t know why she felt so terrible. Perhaps it was the way Frieda had looked at her, eyes full of disappointment and disgust, when she had told her the second day after their fight, “Stop being such a judgmental bitch. You would have done the same thing.” Carol knew she wouldn’t have.

Four days had passed since Frieda had walked in their cell holding the lollipops and the blonde decided she could no longer stand the silent treatment. She was going to apologize. Or at least she would try to. Carol Denning had never apologized to anyone in her entire life. She didn’t feel the need to— nobody’s opinion mattered. She still didn’t think that what she did was so terrible that the dark-haired girl felt the need to stop talking to her but she missed her. She missed hearing her soft laugh. She missed hearing her talk in that adorable southern accent of hers. She missed playing chess with her, even if she lost every single time. 

….

Frieda missed Carol. However, she knew that if she gave up and let the blonde get away with it their relationship would be screwed. Frieda needed to be viewed as an equal, not as someone to use and then throw away. 

She knew that the blonde was sorry— the guilt was written all over her face each time she looked at her. That wasn’t enough for Frieda. Carol needed to stop being an immature brat and deal with the consequences of her actions. 

Ignoring the blonde had been hard, but not impossible. It all changed when she limped in the cell with a black eye, a split lip and God knows how many other bruises. 

“Carol.” Before Frieda could stop herself she was at her side, supporting her weight. “What happened?” She couldn’t conceal her concern. 

“Barb’s bitches —the ones on cleaning duty— jumped me in the hallway.” Every word was laced with pain. 

“Why didn’t the guards take you to medical?” Frieda carefully led Carol to her bed.

“Oh, please. They were reluctant to stop them from killing me.” With the girl’s help, Carol managed to sit down, the process hurting so much she couldn’t think properly.

“Take off your shirt.” 

That earned her a pained laugh from Carol. “Are you hitting on me?” 

Frieda rolled her eyes but the blonde didn’t fail to notice how her cheeks turned a shade redder. “I need to examine your injuries.”

“Didn’t know you were a doctor.” With painstakingly careful motions Carol removed her shirt. “Should I take off my bra too, doc?” She teased. Despite the horrendous pain she was feeling, she was also beyond happy that Frieda was talking to her again.

“I am not a doctor— I just know a lot about surviving.” Frieda observed Carol’s bruised torso. There were a lot of injuries but they —fortunately— looked minor. “And yes, you should.” The blonde arched an eyebrow, trying to decide if she was serious or not. “I’m joking.” That earned her a wide smile —as wide it could be from all the pain she was in— from the blonde.

“Ah!” Carol exclaimed when Frieda’s hands touched a bruise. “Cold hands.” She quickly explained. 

Frieda nodded, trying to keep her eyes and attention on the bruises and not on the blonde’s breasts. When she was done examining her, she said, “As I said before, I am not a real doctor, but I think that there is no internal bleeding. If you are not feeling better tomorrow you should ask to be taken to medical.” She sighed. “They could have killed you, you know.”

“Why do you care?” Carol regretted saying it the moment it came out of her lips.

“Why do I care?” Frieda laughed humorlessly. “Um, I don’t know? Maybe because I am not a shitty person?” She paused, almost scared to ask. “Wouldn’t you care if I died?”

“You are too smart to die.” The blonde said because complimenting her was easier than admitting that she cared.

“I don’t have any medicine to give you, but I have some hooch if you’d like.” 

“Better than nothing.” She muttered, accepting the shampoo bottle. “Thanks.”

….

Carol didn’t know how many hours had passed. She hadn’t been able to sleep, so she drank and drank and drank until the shampoo bottle was empty and she was wasted, lost in a haze of alcohol and pain. “Frieda.” She whispered. “Frieda.” She tried again louder.

“Is something wrong?” The girl asked, immediately alert despite having just woken up. 

“I would have been devastated.” She admitted, the alcohol making her more honest than she would ever dare to be without it. “If you died,” she repeated, “I would have been devastated.”

“Go to sleep Carol.” Frieda smiled against her pillow at the heartwarming confession. 

Carol didn’t. “I’m sorry.” She sobbed. “I’m sorry I used your name.” She was full on crying now— apparently, the hooch didn't just make her honest, but also very emotional. “I screwed up, okay? I shouldn't have done that. It’s just—” Carol stopped when she felt a hand rubbing her arm soothingly.

“Shhh…” 

“You hate me.” She whispered. 

“No, I don’t.” Frieda responded, making it sound like a ridiculous prospect. 

“You didn't talk to me for days.” Carol whined.

“I was angry.” Frieda used her thumb to wipe off the blonde’s tears. 

“Are you still angry?” 

Frieda couldn’t help but smile at how adorable Carol was right now. I should get her drunk more often, she thought. It somehow felt as if this sobbing, drunk, bruised, vulnerable girl was the closest glimpse to the real Carol she had ever got. “A little.” She admitted. “But I forgive you. Now, go to sleep.”

“I can’t.” She sniffled, rubbing her nose with her hand. “It hurts, Frieda.” Carol said softly, making Frieda’s heart ache. “Everything hurts so much.”

“I know.” She told her because she didn’t know what else to say.

“Will you kiss it better?” Carol expected Frieda to blush or to roll her eyes and scoff. She didn't expect her to lean down and press her lips against Carol’s bruised cheekbone. It was soft and brief but it sent tingles down the blonde’s spine.

“Sleep well, Carol.”

Despite the blinding pain and the soreness, Carol Denning slept like a baby.


	6. Chapter 6

When Carol woke up everything hurt-- not only was she bruised all over but she was also nursing a terrible headache. Carol rarely drank to the point of ending this hangover. Trying to remember yesterday night was like looking at something while not wearing her glasses.

"I was just drunk." She said when it all came back to her.

"I know." Replied her cellmate, who was already up, doing God knows what.

"It didn't mean anything." The blonde lied, resisting the urge to touch her cheekbone. If she closed her eyes she could almost feel the heat and softness of Frieda's lips. 

"I know, Carol." Frieda expected that Carol would act like that-- she had opened up too much and was now trying to build the walls up again. She was going to be distant and mean and Frieda was ready to deal with that by agreeing with the blonde and staying calm no matter what. Frieda also knew that while she shouldn't disagree with Carol about how much last night meant, saying that it meant nothing for her as well, would hurt the blonde. "You should rest." 

...

It took several days until Carol could move without doubling over in pain. It was breakfast time and she was surrounded by women she had managed to convince that she was worth following. It should have been perfect, but alas it wasn't. Something, or rather, someone was missing.

"Why isn't Frieda sitting with us?" Asked a woman whose name Carol hadn't bothered to learn yet. "She's still your top dog, isn't she?"

Carol gave her a death glare that ensured she wouldn't be bothered by her again. Now that Carol's gang was getting bigger and mightier she spent more and more time with her girls, wanting to inspire loyalty and be a leader they would be willing to die for. They ate together, stood around each other --with Carol in the middle-- while they were out in the yard and played cards during free time since most of them were too stupid for chess. 

Carol missed Frieda. She loved the attention of her lackeys and was elated that her plan was finally in motion, yet still, she wished she could spend more time with her raven-haired cellmate. 

"Frieda." She said one night as they lay in their beds.

"Yes?"

"We are friends aren't we?" Carol asked, nibbling on her lip, anxiously waiting for Frieda's answer.

"Sure." Realizing that her answer wasn't enough for the blonde she added, "We were before you started spending so much time with your new friends. Now I barely get to see you."

It was a logical answer but it infuriated Carol nonetheless. "First, they are not my friends and second, it's not like you made any effort to get my attention."

"Didn't want to bother you."

Carol hated Frieda's ability to say all the right things while still managing to get her riled up. "Come sit with us during meal times." 

"I told you-- I don't want to get mixed up in your gang bullshit." 

Carol sighed. Why is everything always so difficult? "Okay, then. If you want us to be alone, why don't you bring me to your little hideout?" Carol's many attempts to find it had been futile. How hard could it be, she had thought. The library isn't that big. It turned out it was big enough or at least Frieda was amazing at hiding shit-- a talent Carol could take advantage of. 

"If you wanted me to take you there you should have simply asked." Was all Frieda said. 

"Well, I'm asking now."

...

Hidden behind shelves filled with dusty, ancient looking tomes was Frieda's small oasis. The two walls were filled with posters and family pictures. A mattress --how the hell had she managed to bring it here without getting into trouble?-- with a blanket and two pillows occupied most of the space. "Damn Frieda..."

"It's something temporary." The girl said, trying to conceal her pride. "Until I find something better."

"Something better." Carol mumbled looking around her in awe. She fell down on the mattress with a laugh. "It's not like I think you are a liar, but nobody would believe that you would use a place like this to just relax."

Frieda rolled her eyes and sat down, careful to not make physical contact with Carol, who lay in the bed with such ease and comfort giving the impression that she was the host. "Sex isn't everyone's priority, Carol. If this was yours, would you bring girls over?" Asked Frieda, expecting one of Carol's long speeches over how not gay she was.

"I am not gay." She started as expected. "But I still have 25 years in this shithole. Being a fucking virgin at mid-forties doesn't sound very appealing to me."

It took Frieda a while to reply as she was caught off guard by the blonde's words. "COs are an option." Most of them were men, some were good looking and a few were even decent. 

"What would you choose? An inmate or a CO?" The blonde asked fully aware that Frieda was serving a life sentence. 

"I don't know." She answered honestly. "I haven't felt the need for it yet." She lied without knowing that she did. 

Carol scoffed. "Everyone has."

"Not me."

The blonde narrowed her eyes. "You're telling me that you've never masturbated?"

"No." Frieda said as if it was obvious. "Why? Have you?"

Carol gave her a look that said, duh-of-course-i-have, making her cheeks turn crimson as she tried not to imagine Carol doing it. 

The blonde suddenly felt dizzy. This gorgeous girl, who was strong and smart and oh so perfect was also so innocent, so inexperienced that made Carol want to be her every first. The hunger she felt left her powerless. All she could think of was that if she didn't devour her raven-haired angel right now she would explode. "Let your hair down." She commanded.

Frieda Berlin, who was raised to not take orders from anyone, looked straight into the blonde's dilated pupils as she yanked the rubber band that held her braid together. She was barely done unbraiding her hair when Carol growled, "So fucking beautiful" and grabbed it, pulling her in. Their lips collided-- it was messy and Carol was doing most of the work but it was also passionate and absolutely perfect. After she got over her initial surprise, Frieda did her best to kiss the blonde back, holding back a yelp when Carol bit her bottom lip. 

"The things I'm gonna do to you." She breathed, a deliciously dangerous promise before she claimed Frieda's lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on most chapters will contain smut, so if you have any prompts feel free to let me know. I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is highly appreciated.


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